She gathered the trash and took the bag to the chute. She listened for it to hit the bottom and then went back to her apartment, secured the lock, and decided to call it a night.
Her last thought before falling asleep wasn’t of Ryan.
It was of Wisconsin.
Chapter 7
The next morning, Dot beat her alarm and woke a few minutes before six.
She brushed her teeth, put on running clothes, and to keep her ears warm, added a hot pink beanie with a hole in the back for her ponytail. Four times a week she ran three miles up and around the Jackie O Reservoir in Central Park. She listened toThe Daily. That morning’s topic was the upcoming Democratic primary and the steep climb to win the next presidential election. “Serendipity,” Dot thought. She wasn’t the only one thinking about the election all the time. The show’s host sounded depressed, and she understood how he felt. The struggle was real.
Dot thought of Kitty’s election plan to flip some of the purple states. She appreciated the creativity. At least it was a new idea, which is what the party needed.
When she got back to the Buckley, she took the stairs to the third floor and made a coffee in her Keurig dupe and added a splash of almond milk. She sipped it while she scrolled through the headlines sent out by the corporate office. Nothing unexpected, thankfully. She avoided looking at her text messages, knowing Ryan’s message about dinner that night sat unanswered. She knew she was avoiding the inevitable but she needed a little time.
Dot showered and dried her hair straight. She got dressed and by 8:05 a.m., she left her apartment and entered Central Park for the second time that day. This time she walked toward the East River. She enjoyed watching all the dogs run around. The park didn’t require leashes for three hours starting at six in the morning. It was one of her favorite things about the city. She smiled as she watched them play on the grass and the sandy ball fields as they raced around their owners’ legs, the humans standing with bent knees so they wouldn’t get bowled over.
As she neared her office, she stopped at her favorite coffee cart before going upstairs. Her regular guy, Freddy, moved with speed to prepare her latte with extra foam.
“Thanks, Freddy!” she said, tapping her card and adding a 20 percent tip. Then she flashed him a smile and turned to face the day.
“Here we go,” she said to psych herself up for the pitch review.
She got to her office and finally made herself look at her text messages.
Ryan: “Dot. Call me. Are you okay?”
She responded in a flush of panic.
“Yes, I’m sorry! My call went late last night...” she texted, convincing herself that wasn’t a lie.
He answered immediately. “The reservation was hard to get. You can make it, right?”
Dot had a knot of anxiety she couldn’t ignore about the location. Peak spelled big-time occasion. And while she knew she was probably overthinking things, she asked for a change of venue.
“Rough week—work stuff. Okay to go more casual tonight—save Peak for another time?”
His three dots came up. He was obviously thinking of a reply. She kind of hoped he’d just say forget the entire thing. But he didn’t.
“Sure. Joanne? I can meet you there at 7:30. I’ll get us a table.”
She admired his choice. Joanne was on West Sixty-Eighth, near the Buckley. Lady Gaga’s dad owned the place, and aside from having a great menu with their family’s meatballs and arancini, there was always live entertainment that started around nine. Once in a while the famous daughter would drop in for a set.
“Sounds great. See you then. Maybe we’ll see you-know-who.” She didn’t use any exclamation points or emojis, which wasn’t like her. She was trying to send a low-key message. She knew he’d suspect that something was wrong. But that problem was for later. The new business slide deck was the problem for the morning.
She turned on her computer and combed over the presentation one more time. Satisfied that it looked perfect, she sent three copies to be printed for the senior partners to review.
When she went to the shared office printer to pick up the copies, the printer was jammed.
“Typical,” she said to herself. She yanked out the crumpled paper—a spreadsheet that seemed unremarkable. But before she threw it away, the heading caught her eye: Talent Review—Confidential.
It must have been printed accidentally or someone had forgotten to pick it up.
The spreadsheet had three columns labeledMeets,Below,Exceeds. She glanced quickly at the names—there were all her colleagues, including some of the junior staffers she’d helped train. Their salaries were noted in another column, and the final column determined their performance.
All of them were marked at meets or below. The only ones with exceeds were her and Arturo Rodriguez from Accounting. The note at the bottom said, “Reassign client work to Dot C.”
Her eyes blurred as she stared at the page and realized what was happening. Even if she helped win this new healthcare client, the firm planned to downsize and unload all the work onto her. And she was already working twelve-hour days. But the message was clear: they were trimming the fat. And she was expected to carry the load.